Divine System: Land of the Abominations

They found a spot along the side of the road where the grass was flattened from previous travelers. It wasn't much. Just a patch of earth with a few fallen logs scattered around that could serve as seats. But it was theirs for now, and that would have to be enough.

Geor set down the wrapped spear with a grunt of relief, flexing his fingers to work out the stiffness. Obed lowered himself onto one of the logs, his broken arm held carefully against his chest. Lucy remained standing for a moment, surveying the area with practiced caution before finally settling down as well.

Nero watched as Aisha began pulling items from their packs, organizing what little supplies they had left. The waterskins were nearly empty. Their food was down to some dried meat and stale bread. Three days of hard travel had depleted what was left of their meager resources faster than expected.

And now, somehow, they would have to survive with only this much food.

Nero's brows trembled.

He sat down on the grass, leaning back against one of the logs. Around them, the sounds of thousands of other refugees filled the air.

Conversation, crying children, the occasional argument. The smell of unwashed bodies, blood, and cooking fires drifted on the breeze.

Nero's eyes traced the line of people stretching toward the massive gates in the distance. The line hadn't moved since they arrived, not even an inch.

At this rate, Obed and Lucy's estimate of a month might even be optimistic.

A question had been gnawing at him since Emif's revelation. He turned to Obed.

"How do you think they did it?"

Obed glanced up, his expression tired. "How did who do what?"

"The Templars," Nero said. "How did they move all these people through places like Malady's Garden? We barely made it through with five people. How did they get thousands through without losing everyone?"

Lucy let out a dry laugh. "Naive Nero. You think no one died?"

Obed shifted his weight, wincing slightly as the movement jostled his arm. "The Templars are far more powerful than you could imagine, Nero. Especially those of higher order."

He paused, seeming to gather his thoughts.

"Some of them have the power to crush rocks with their bare hands. Others create Elixirs that can heal mortal wounds or grant strength beyond human limits. And then there are those who can pry into the secrets of the world itself, witnessing visions and commanding the supernatural."

Nero frowned. He had heard stories about Templars, of course. But hearing it described this way, with such matter-of-fact certainty, made it feel more real.

"The higher order Templars," Obed continued, "are more than capable of pulling off a feat like this. They could carve a path through Malady's Garden if they wanted to, using their abilities to shepherd people through dangerous territory."

He looked out at the mass of refugees surrounding them.

"But even they are not completely indomitable. I suspect more than half the people who started this journey didn't make it."

The words settled over them like a shroud of ice.

Nero's gaze swept across the crowd again, this time with different eyes. Now that Obed had said it, he could see the evidence everywhere.

There. A woman with bandages wrapped around her head, the cloth stained with old blood. Her eyes were distant, unfocused, lips trembling as she muttered into the nothingness.

A man missing his left leg below the knee, the stump wrapped in filthy rags. He sat propped against a pack, his face the color of old parchment.

Everywhere Nero looked, he saw the wounded.

The dying.

People who had survived the journey through the wilderness but might not survive the wait outside the city gates.

"Half, huh..." Nero repeated quietly.

"Maybe more," Lucy added. She had produced the metal flask from earlier and was taking another drink. "Depends on which route they took and how many Templars were assigned to each group."

Geor spoke up for the first time since they'd sat down. "The Templars would prioritize keeping the group moving over protecting individuals. Anyone who fell behind would be left."

His voice was grim.

Nero felt something twist in his stomach. He thought about the people from Gor.

He pushed the thought away. There was no point dwelling on it.

"What about tonight?" he asked instead.

The question shifted the atmosphere immediately.

Everyone's posture changed slightly, becoming more tense.

Lucy stoppered her flask and tucked it away.

"That's the real problem, isn't it?"

Obed nodded slowly. "We're exposed out here. Thousands of people camping in an open field. This is a recipe for disaster if I've ever seen one."

"The Abominations over here will be weaker," Lucy said.

"But that doesn't mean more powerful creatures won't come," Nero finished the thought. "And if they do, there's going to be a massacre."

He had seen what happened when powerful Abominations attacked unprepared humans. Gor had been proof enough of that. These people were even more vulnerable. Exhausted, injured, many of them unarmed. If something like the mutated Night Hornets showed up, or worse, the death toll would be catastrophic.

"The Templars will handle the powerful ones," Lucy said, though her tone suggested she was trying to convince herself as much as anyone else. "I pray they do."

She glanced into the sky. The grey, pallid ocean of up.

"But some will surely slip through," She muttered quietly. "Especially the spirit Abominations since they are harder to detect and fight against."

Nero remembered the possessed Lawson. The evil spirit that had latched onto his hatred and transformed him into something monstrous. How many people here were angry? Afraid? Desperate? How many were perfect targets for possession?

He glanced at Aisha. She had finished organizing their supplies and was now sitting close to him, her knees drawn up to her chest. She caught him looking and gave a small smile that didn't reach her eyes.

The sun was beginning its descent toward the horizon. Evening was approaching. Soon it would be twilight, and then night would fall.

Nero looked around at their makeshift camp then down at himself.

"We'll need to take watches. I hate to admit it, but our current circumstances just might be worse than remaining within Malady's Garden." Obed said with a grim huff,

They continued discussing the watch rotation, but Nero found his attention drifting. His eyes moved across the sea of refugees again, taking in the scope of it all.

How many more towns would fall? How many more groups of refugees would arrive?

The question had no answer. At least not one he could discern, anyway.